Roses Red
by anyadoll
Summary: post Devil's Cherry-what i would write after the end...


**A/N:** I got such an Alice In Wonderland vibe from Devil's Cherry, seriously. I love it. Everything was so in context and hilarious and awesome—best episode to date….no lie—if you've never seen it, this is that episode you watch to hook a person. And lovvvvvinnnggg the Jane/Lisbon hints. Well, this is the season they said to watch for the blooming romance. Obviously I kinda took from the Queen of Hearts yelling "Paint the roses red," also, I took a bit of the plot from the Bones episode where Booth is trapped on the boat because of the Gravedigger—at the end of the episode when he is talking to the boy he couldn't save's wife, and the boy walks past Brennan and acknowledges her, and she him, this is kind of an homage to that and to say that what we see and what we believe aren't always the same… "Paradise" lyrics by Coldplay.

**Roses Red**

_When she was just a girl_

_She expected the world_

_But it flew way from her reach_

_So she ran away in her sleep_

_Dreamed of paradise_

_Every time she closed her eyes…_

_When she was just a girl _

_She expected the world_

_But it flew away from her reach_

_And the bullets catch in her teeth…_

She would have been beautiful. Spitting image of her mother. Talent, wit, biting arrogance all her father's.

And it killed him.

He couldn't tell if conjuring his daughter was the best delusional episode he'd ever had, or the worst nightmare he'd ever see.

She had been so alive—all delightful sarcasm, Rapunzel like golden hair that fell in long waves down her back. Maybe he knew it for what it was; after all, he was not supposed t come out happy in this life.

He should have known when Cho barely blinked at the rabbit. When the odd "Scandinavian" couple, with their blue pointy hats and voluminous pink gown did not so much as make him pause in question.

So this was how Alice felt then?

Traversing Wonderland, while everyone amongst her wandered so obliviously. What a wonder she would want to return from such a divine place—where dead loved ones could be resurrected and beautiful gardens sprouted and the beauty of possibility could be laid before him so cruelly.

He sipped the sweet Belladonna tea, knowing and hoping it wouldn't be long before he would have the pleasure of seeing Charlotte before him.

"Really dad?"

His smile was halved, as she materialized before him in a silk lavender dress. Stunning color with her pale skin and striking blonde hair. Her eyes blazed angrily at him, clearly frustrated.

"This is sick. You have to stop this!"

"Charlotte Anne, mind your tone. Dead or not you are still my daughter," he replied, laughingly, as the fantastical tripping began.

"Mind your health, father. Teresa isn't here to save you again," she shot back bitterly. "Mom would be furious and you know it, poisoning yourself to see a hallucination!"

He caught her gaze dead on. "If it's you, then I'll poison myself to death to keep you coming back."

She shook her head. He was impossible. If she could not get through to him then no one could.

"Don't you understand? Don't you get it! We don't want you to live like this!" Charlotte screamed, arms waving madly. "In an attic, a dirty motel, that smiling house! Dear god, mother wanted you to move on from this, and so did I! Why can't you honor that? Why won't you let us go, daddy?"

He stood, face to face with his not-so-little girl. "Because I didn't get this part! I don't get to see you turn into this! I don't get a first kiss, a prom night, a boyfriend talk, graduations, family photos, engagements and giving you away—it's gone, Charlotte, you are gone, your mother is gone!" Patrick yelled just as cruelly back at the lovely figment before him.

"I know," she whispered softly. "But you need to understand that we are never coming back. Your obsession, your revenge won't bring us back. Killing him won't help us, because we are okay, dad. Nothing can hurt us but you, now. You are holding us here, you want us to be at peace be we aren't."

"I want it back. I want to take it all back, I want to start over, I want to be eighteen and running off with your mother, getting married in a silly Vegas chapel again…seeing you for the first time, holding you. I want it…Charlotte."

He could stand no longer. His knees gave way, and hit the hard wood floor of the dingy attic. She stood like an angel, hovering over him.

His sobs wracked his very soul. And if she could cry she would have, too.

"You can have it again, dad. You are supposed to have it again," she whispered, cupping his tear-streaked face in delicate hands. "You don't believe in where we are, you never did, but that place exists in whatever capacity you think it. I'm telling you, father, that we've seen what will happen—what can happen if you let it. It's beautiful, dad. It's a beautiful life that we want you to take because it won't wait forever. We don't want you to die for us, we want you to live, to remember us, to honor us."

His head hung in sadness and what he knew was shame. "But how?" he asked. "How do I move past this? What kind of life is there for me? How many others have to die before I can find him and kill him?"

Charlotte cast a sad, knowing smile. "It's easy. Let us go. Just because you let us go does not mean you forget us, we both know that is truly impossible." He laughed brokenly. "That life that you keep thinking you don't deserve is so utterly close to you; but if you want it, you have to let him go too. I want my father to be happy—I don't want a monster in his place."

"Is that what happens, if I choose him?"

She sighed, heavily. "You do not want to know what happens if you do, that I can promise. We see time differently; call it the perks of being dead, so to speak. If you choose him you will lose daddy. Please, know that. But if you choose her, then everything will be okay. She won't let him win and you know that. Let it be her battle, father."

He sniffed, glancing upwards curiously. "Whose battle is it then? Don't I get to know her name at least, this woman I should be waiting for?"

"No. Silly, these are things you find yourself. Just because you're a Mentalist—and not a very good one—doesn't mean you get to cheat the system dad," she said, mockingly.

Unfortunately, the effects of the Belladonna caught up to him then. Once again he was convulsing.

And this time, as Charlotte had said, no one was there to save him.

XOX

Teresa Lisbon felt off. It was a kind of off she had not felt since her mother died, as if the air was thick with warning. She was not often so paranoid, nor superstitious. She prided herself on her practicality, unless it came to her beliefs. And what she believed kept her rooted in the midst of the bullpen on her way out.

She assumed everyone had gone for the night. Rigsby had left for home hours before, anxious to get to Ben, Sarah having been sidelined by a court case. Van Pelt mentioned a long overdue shopping excursion, which Lisbon knew was code for therapy session. Cho…well, he went on doing Cho-like things that no one ever seemed to know about. And Jane, well, after today she assumed he'd crashed on a couch somewhere.

But she could not shake _that_ pull.

The pull seemed to manifest itself. Teresa Lisbon practically jumped out of her skin at the teenage girl's sudden appearance.

"Jesus, Mary, and all that's holy you can't do that!" she shrieked in surprise. Her heart beat rapidly; she noticed the worry in the pretty teen's face. "Can I help you?"

"You need to help him, something's wrong!" the girl cried.

Lisbon's internal alarm kicked in. "Who needs help?" she demanded, all business.

"Upstairs, follow me," she said hurriedly, turning and expecting the stunned agent to follow.

"Jane," she whispered breathlessly. The girl moved effortlessly, dashing to the elevator.

And Teresa Lisbon dutifully followed.

XOX

Patrick swam in a sea of imagery from his past life. He watched as carousel horses spun in their continuous circle until they seemed to come to life and flee the confines of the winding gold poles that held them there; eerie clowns mutated into monsters, and crystal balls expanded into huge, encompassing bubbles that flattened everything in their path.

It was beautiful and horrifying.

And amidst the strange wreckage was a man swathed in black, faceless—nothing but a bloody smile painted on his mask. And in bright contrast, the enchanting form of his beloved wife, unsmiling, worried, but stunning in a white version of the dress Charlotte was wearing.

He dared to move closer, eyes lighting as he took in Angela, unblemished and un-aged from when she'd passed.

"No, Patrick, don't come closer," she whispered mournfully. He looked at her oddly, wanting nothing more than to grab her and twirl her around.

"Why not, Ange? It's been so long," he questioned his wife. But she held her hands up in placation and silence.

"And it will have to be longer, Patrick," she soothed. "We miss you, my love. You know that, and we want nothing more than for you to be happy. You have to be happy without us. Please, Patrick?" Angela pleaded.

"I can't be happy. I have tried. This isn't fair, you can't demand that of me!"

"Life isn't fair, Patrick, we always knew that! What is fair is that we had that time together at all! We had a beautiful baby girl, and then, like me, she was gone. But you had five wonderful years with her and longer with me. That is more than most ever have in a lifetime, and we lived, Patrick! We had a full life in that short time!"

He stopped, taking in her words, glaring at the demon on his left that represented the monster that had taken them so swiftly.

"Why is he here?" Patrick asked, waving at the black figure.

"He's not. He's your creation Patrick. He's what you imagine when you think of us, and that is what keeps us bound. When you can let him go, we can go. You are trapping me and your daughter here. We want to move on, so should you. You have been the ever-loving dedicated husband—and it is poetic and lovely and sad. Live the right life, please. Live the life we should have had!"

She moved closer. Or he was moving closer to her unaware. "You are the love of my life, Angela. You can't ask me to do that." He shook his head. She sighed.

"Patrick, you can love twice. You know that. I am giving you my blessing to love her. Please take it. Because I will see you again one day, and I cannot wait for that meeting. But until then, let us watch over you. Have children, get married."

The dark figure wobbled in the corner of his eye. Was his delirious trip ending?

She stood face to face with him now.

"I will love you always," she smiled, leaning in, giving him a parting kiss. "Patrick…Patrick…Pat—"

Angela flickered. The dark man was gone. Her voice echoed around his skull and his dreams. Her dark blonde hair wavered in his vision…turning darker. Her blue eyes slanted, becoming a vivid, piercing green.

The halo that surrounded Angela surrounded a blurry figure in front of him now.

"—rick Jane! I swear to god if you die I will kill you myself! You are so stupid! You are a fool, Jane, how could you be this foolish you selfish bastard!"

Teresa Lisbon.

Screaming.

Leaning in, leaning back. Kissing him?

No, trying to keep him alive.

XOX

Teresa Lisbon practically collapsed next to Jane, seeing him unconscious on the floor for the second time that day. This time he was not holding his own. This time he wasn't breathing.

"Call 911!" she shouted at the girl, ten feet behind her.

Charlotte merely nodded, never moving.

"C'mon Jane, please, don't do this! Don't do this to me!" Teresa cried, doing the chest compressions she could remember on autopilot.

She prayed the ambulance arrived quickly.

Charlotte looked on at the scene. She knew her father was lying. She knew he cared about this woman.

You couldn't con a con, right?

The one honest answer to her question filled her with a joy she couldn't remember feeling.

"_Does anybody know who you really are?"_

"_Lisbon."_

"Daddy, just make the right choice," she whispered to herself, watching Lisbon try to keep her dear father breathing.

Sirens wailed once more in the still night.

XOX

It all happened so quickly Teresa very nearly forgot about the girl that led her to Jane.

She whipped around, searching for the pretty child that had helped her save her friend.

The girl was nowhere to be found.

She looked at the paramedics loading Jane on a stretcher similar to earlier, and asked the woman the question that had been bothering her.

"Excuse me, did you see the girl leave? She was the one who told me Jane was in trouble, I wanted to thank her," Teresa queried, still searching.

The paramedic shook her head, frustrated, as if to say, "Now is not the time for your silly questions."

Teresa shrugged it off, knowing she'd look for the girl later. She'd gotten a good look at the teenager, and could certainly describe her. She'd make sure to let the hospital know that a teenage girl might be appearing and asking for Jane, she thought as she climbed into the ambulance after Jane, gripping his hand tightly.

When would this man learn?

When would he realize she was there, waiting? Always waiting for him to come around, to change his mind about this ridiculous quest he had doled out for himself. Why couldn't he just _see_ her?

She shook her head, pushing back sad thoughts of futures that would never be. He would die for his family, long gone as they were. But he would not live for her.

Her tears dripped silently, and she did nothing to stop them.

XOX

"Dad, you're going to have to face this. And her. You can't stay here forever. I know mom talked to you. What more reassurance do you need?"

He grunted, turning away from his daughter. Charlotte shook her head, aggravated by his persistence. "I don't have much longer here, you know that. Would you want me to leave without a goodbye?"

"No," he whispered. "Not again."

"Then please. For her sake, for ours, for yours, move on. We don't care what happens to Red John. His time will come. It always does dad. "

He laughed, silly and morbid and dark. "I wish I could see life how you see it Charlotte. How do I know he won't come back and take away someone else I love?"

She smiled. "You don't. That is the beauty and cruelty of life, dad. But isn't it better to try to take what you can? You get to live, you can find another woman to love, you can have another child, mom and I will never have that. You're right, I will never grow up and get married. But I can watch out for you. I can live, I will live through you, always, daddy."

"Is it really for the best that I let him go? Will it really help anybody? Will it help me?" he pleaded, wanting the sure answer.

She placed her palm on his cheek. "I can't tell you that. Because you have to decide that. But I can tell you that you are loved. And I can tell you that she is right. She can protect herself. But she can't save herself from losing you. You matter here, dad. You do wonderful things. Keep doing that. Just, do it carefully."

She was fading.

He could feel it more than see.

"I love you Charlotte."

"I know. I love you too daddy. So let me go, okay?"

He opened his mouth to reply, but she had vanished into vapor.

XOX

Teresa Lisbon paced the hallway relentlessly.

She was exhausted. She hated hospitals, with good reason. The hard chairs, the smell of sickness and cold disinfectant, the discomforting doctors and their attempts at smiling while breaking the worst kind of news. She'd been here too often.

When would he learn?

"Excuse me?"

Teresa turned. The girl.

She smiled tentatively. "Good, they let you through. I told them you might be coming here. How do you know Jane?" she asked.

The girl shrugged one pale shoulder. "From a long time ago. Look, can I ask you something, honestly?"

Teresa nodded. She owed the teenager that much. After all, she'd led her to Jane.

"Sure, I guess."

The girl looked into the small window that opened into Jane's room. They'd told Lisbon no visitors until he'd woken from the second stomach pumping of the day. She'd cringed and agreed.

"Do you…do you think you can take care of him? Do you think you love him?" she asked carefully.

Lisbon was stunned for a moment. Who was this girl? "Did, did Jane put you up to this? Because that is none of your business. We're friends, we've known each other a long time. But I don't know you, so…."

Lisbon trailed off. She couldn't even admit the truth to a stranger, a teenager? She was as bad as him, dancing and avoiding like a child.

"I'm sorry. I'm just…it's been a really long day." Lisbon swallowed, thinking the simple question over. "Yeah. Yeah I think taking care of him is the only sure thing I've had in my life for a long time. I've lost my job, been suspended, been arrested over him. God help me I don't know why I stick around. But yes, I think I love him. In whatever sense you want to think."

The girl beamed prettily, biting her lip to stop the widening smile. "Thank you, Teresa, that's all I needed to know."

She was about to reply when the nurse attending to Jane told her she could see him, but only for a bit, and only if she didn't agitate him. _Impossible,_ she thought. She turned back to the girl, to ask if she' like to come in with her.

But the teenager was gone.

Lisbon narrowed her eyes, curious, but shrugged off the sense and walked into the room.

XOX

_Three days later. _

Jane was dismissed from the hospital, under strict orders that he speak to a shrink, considering he poisoned himself willingly. He'd given the psych ward a run for their money already, and they'd had enough. He wasn't put on suicide watch partly because he had not used enough of the Belladonna to kill himself, just enough to force a delusional state of mind.

Partly because Teresa Lisbon fought his case for him.

They released him into her custody. Something he did not like but she told him to deal with after the previous weeks events.

She reminded him that he'd try to jack an ambulance, and he'd relented after that.

But he'd barely spoken since she brought him to her apartment.

"I'd ask if you wanted tea but I'm starting to doubt your beverage choice," she snapped glibly.

He knew she was angry. After what he'd put her though…well, sorry would not be enough.

It never was. But she always readily accepted it.

Maybe that was their problem. They forgave each other too easily for their affronts against the other. They'd never had a full blown shouting match, they'd come close, sure, but the passion was never in their speech.

He was mad that she wasn't mad at him.

He didn't know why that irked him so. Because she was truly Saint Teresa? No one had that level of patience. No one could take someone like him, all those years, ignoring orders, leaving her for six months without so much as a goodbye, lamenting over a dead wife and daughter for ten years, never dedicating himself to anyone. Anyone but _her_, he thought idly, taking in the petite brunette as she made her way into the kitchen.

Because she was the one thing he had dedicated himself to protecting—the last living thing he had in his pathetic life. And he'd let the years tick by, letting her go along, thinking she was nothing but a placeholder for a future he never wanted and had had already. Thinking she was nothing but his means to an end, because that would mean she was not his friend either. She was just his to use.

He was cruel. And he had just realized how much.

"—er Jane?"

She was talking to him. "What? Sorry, spaced a bit."

"Water, Jane? I'm out of your tea," she repeated.

She was beautiful. He knew that. She had always been attractive, no matter if no one ever told her, he was certain her father had barely glanced at her when he realized she looked like her mother, and her brothers were doubtless the first to admit their sister was pretty. She was a loner by nature, like him. She would have had a complex if not for her male-affiliated job choice. Where she could be masculine but appear so fragile to him. She could punch like a rock, he knew from experience. She could interrogate the baddest society had to offer and not be moved. She could coddle the ones that had the worst sort of news broken to them, without flinching. That made her beautiful.

"Did anyone ever tell you how beautiful you are, Lisbon?"

She dropped the glass she was filling in the sink. She wavered. Where was this coming from?

"I see you're still tripping." She tried, futilely.

"Four days later?" he replied.

She sighed, head dropping in exhaustion.

"What do you want from Jane? I have nothing left to give. I am tired, and angry, and sad, all the time. You did that to me Jane. So let's just do what we always do. You tell me you're sorry for poisoning yourself like the fool I know you are, and I say that everything will be alright, because I always make it right."

He deserved that and he knew it. "It's not alright Lisbon. It never will be," he whispered. His fists clenched and opened, a monotonous pattern.

"I know," she said. She'd long understood that. "I know you didn't deserve to lose them, trust me, I know that much. And you know that I would give anything to take that pain away, but that can't be changed."

His eyes flashed. "Don't you say that. You don't get to say you would trade places with them. Don't speak of that, Teresa. Don't curse yourself like that!"

She felt verbally slapped.

"You can martyr yourself for your lost causes Teresa, but you can't martyr yourself for them. That's mine alone."

She laughed darkly. Her smile bitter. "Your problem is that you think you are a lost cause Patrick. I wish, so much, that you could see that we care about you! You changed _us_! All of us! You think you poison everything you touch, you think you curse us, you think that knowing me will get me killed, but what if it doesn't? Have you thought about that Patrick?" She glared, pleadingly into his blue eyes. "What if you move on, what if you find someone you can move on with and down the line, Red John makes himself known, and we catch him? And nobody dies, and we get the justice we wanted. What about all that time you will have wasted, for nothing? You are not living Jane!"

It was the second time someone had told him such. Charlotte had made her point known, wanting him desperately to move one and let them go. Angela had similarly pointed it out.

_I'm giving you my blessing to love her._

He was a fool who knew who his dead wife's delusion was talking about all along.

"What if I'm just…what if I just can't, Teresa?" he sounded so lost.

She smiled softly. "Then I'll be here to help you. Like I always am. Like I always promised you."

She moved forward, arms gently encircling his shoulders. His arms wove around her tightly, and the tears finally made their presence known, of seeing his daughter grown up, of seeing Angela, of waking up to see Teresa trying to save him.

"It hurt to see her, Lisbon, it hurt that I missed it all…" he sobbed, lowering them to her kitchen floor, leaning against the infrequently used oven.

She held him tightly, letting him cry for them and for himself. "Why, why don't you tell me about her Jane? What did she look like? What did she say?" she smiled. "From what I could tell, she had to have your menace within her."

He laughed in spite of himself.

"Probably would have been swindling kids out of their lunch money before she was six. Probably could have run for office, too, with that kind of mouth," he whispered brokenly, but she could hear a soft reminiscence within. As if the girl was still there. "You would have liked her. She certainly liked you, Teresa."

"Well, that's probably because you like me," she said with a small laugh.

He sobered a little and she felt the shift. "She told me to stop. She told me that they don't care what happens to him, Lisbon. That nothing I do will help them, that all I can do is let them go."

She swallowed thickly. "I can't make that choice for you Jane, but you know where I stand. And if you let them go, that doesn't mean you forget them. They will always be a part of you."

He smiled at her, and it was a different sort of smile. "That's what she said. Before she disappeared. I think at least I got to see what my girl would have looked like, all grown up. Just like her mom."

Teresa took in his face, the way his features shifted, brightening. Like he was maybe letting go. Just a little. It would not be immediate, that was for sure. But she would help him.

"You know, you have never actually showed me a picture of your daughter, Jane?" she observed carefully. She didn't want to upset him.

"You're right, Teresa. I guess I never really thought about it," he paused. Then his eyes widened just a bit. He stood, leaving the safety of her grasp and walked out to the living room where he'd left his bag from the hospital. She waited patiently for his return. He emerged with a folded piece of drawing paper.

"What's that?" she asked, nodding at the paper he gripped as if it was the most divine of objects.

"I didn't want to forget her Lisbon. I couldn't not have anything to look back on. I always was pretty good at drawing, not a master or anything, but I took a shot."

He carefully handed her the paper, she took it gently, unfolding the halved sheet.

He was quite good. She knew that.

She wasn't smiling as he'd hoped though. No, she looked sick, blanched and greenish in hue. He frowned.

"Teresa, what is it? What's wrong?"

She gaped at the drawing, at the beauty outlined in gray pencil. She didn't know tears were rushing into her eyes and down her cheeks. That she was shaking.

"J-Jane, is, is this her?"

He looked at her concerned, the way she gasped, covering her mouth with her palm, as if to hold back a scream.

He nodded. "Yes, that's Charlotte."

"I've…_seen_ this girl. Oh my…Patrick, _she_ told _me_ you were in trouble. I told her to call the paramedics, but she couldn't…then how…and at the hospital, she kept asking me weird questions. I just assumed she was…the past? It makes sense, that feeling I had. How didn't I know? How didn't I know?" she began whispering more to herself than him.

"Lisbon, you could not have seen her, I created her in my mind. I had to poison myself to see her. She wasn't real."

"Listen to me, Patrick, I saw her. She took me to you. She was pretty, her hair was really long, almost your color, and she had a purple dress on!"

Purple dress.

So it had been…real? In some way or other.

In some way or other, his daughter had saved his life. His daughter had appeared before his friend as if she was a beckoning angel—demanding he be saved from himself. He couldn't stop his laughter. Maniacal, maddening, happy.

"I'm not crazy?" he said through his laughter with a kind of awe. "She was real."

"That or we are spending way too much time together. Or you or that crazed suspect of ours slipped some Belladonna into my tea. But, if I saw her, then I don't think you are crazy…I think she was looking out for you Jane."

Her awe was just as prevalent as his.

He rested his head back against the oven with a thump. "They really wanted me convinced, didn't they?"

"Convinced about what?" she asked, locking her hand with his.

"That there is a better place. The kind of place you believe in Teresa. The kind of place they want me to be a part of when I'm gone. "

"Do you want to know what Charlotte asked me, Jane?"

His head lolled toward hers, her eyes bright with question. He blinked, slowly, knowing she would tell him regardless.

"If you saw her, if she came to you, then yes, Teresa, I would like to know."

After all, she had no reason to lie to him.

"She asked me if I would take care of you. She asked me if I loved you."

His daughter. Curious as he. Asking all the wrong questions. His face remained passive as he tried to read her expression, finding he could not. That surprised him. He'd always prided himself on that one ability…and it seemed in his absence she'd learned how to close herself off from his powers. He had apologies of his own to atone for.

"I'm sorry I left you Teresa. I didn't think I realized what it would do to you. I'm so very sorry for that."

She laughed. She laughed so hard she couldn't breathe. He was such a silly, silly man. And he'd never heard her laugh like this.

It was contagious. And he didn't even know why they were laughing at such inappropriate things.

She slowed first. "I told her I would take care of you. I told her I loved you Jane."

His laughing petered off, shaking his head. "Oh, Lisbon. I know. I've always known. You may be able to conceal everything from me, but I know you enough to know that. You wear your heart on your sleeve with me. You would not have kept on with me if you didn't love me, we both know that dear."

"And what about you Jane? What happens now?"

He looked at the beauty before him. Really and truly for the first time. And realized he _could_ see a life with her. It scared him, that he could see so much in her bottomless, caring emerald eyes. Could see their friendship turning into dinners and movies, see dates turning into the possibility of an engagement and a wedding on a beach by a small church in a simple white dress. Just the team, just her brothers, and maybe his wily brother-in-law—he owed it to them to show up, after Lisbon had allowed him to flee. It could be a beautiful life.

He would let them go. But never forget them.

He would stop his obsessive, grueling desire. But would continue his search.

He would not kill Red John. But he would watch him suffer for his crimes.

He would not become a monster in the name of his family. He would live instead.

"Everything, Teresa, everything."

XOX

EPILOGUE

Magic.

That's all she could really call it.

Pure, wonderful, beautiful magic.

All in the face of this small life before her.

Of all things she never thought she'd have in her life, this was one of them. And now she knew what it felt like to be blessed.

They'd kept it a secret surprise, even from themselves, not knowing, not wanting to know. Even though it drove her mad, and him into a different obsession. They didn't want to know for reasons of their own making.

She was such a stunning baby girl.

When the doctor had offered him his lively, shrieking daughter, he'd hesitated, and declined, and let go of his wife's tired hand and wandered out of the room.

Instead, she held their nameless daughter, attempting to comfort herself as well. She knew he would return, she knew he was in pain.

After the day he decided to start living again, he'd made her promise him many things. He made her promise that the day they caught Red John, he would never see the light of day again, because that would be too good for him. They got their justice…but it was of the short-lived kind. One of the family members of a Red John victim had been serving time for petty theft, and with a case and a killer so high profile…well, it was not long before the family member, and even some of Jane's friends from his two-time stint in prison, exacted revenge of their own. It was a bitter justice, as Jane had sworn to see him once a week to torture him with pictures of the life he'd chosen. And nothing enraged the killer more.

Not long after, he'd proposed to her.

It did not come as a surprise to anyone. And on the beach, on a bright day in April, Van Pelt stood as her quiet bridesmaid; Rigsby and Cho both as his best men. Sarah held an antsy three-year old Benjamin—due with their second son soon—shrouded by Lisbon's three brothers, and a very nervous former brother-in-law. It was a lovely ceremony, personal and perfect. And he was happy.

His next promise had somewhat startled her. He made her swear that they would not know the baby's gender. She agreed, even though it drove her crazy—she hated yellow, and green was the only alternative, even though she had always thought the pink or blue war sexist. It was made more maddening by Van Pelt's constant pestering of name choices and baby clothes and whether ruffles were a candidate.

Teresa realized _her_ mistake had come in not making him promise not to leave.

He was thrown by having another girl. She could see and feel it in his stilted, retreating form. She feared he would only think of Charlotte, only compare their daughter to a dead girl as she'd feared he'd compare her to Angela.

So she waited.

She rocked her little girl, names swarming in and out of her mind. Jenny? Too common. Same with Sophie and Emma. She certainly did not look like an Olivia, nor a Catherine as Teresa had thrown around absently days prior.

Who would their daughter be?

As if to answer, her eyes fluttered, the blue already seeming to fade to her mother's emerald color, framed by thick dark lashes. She'd be batting those in no time, no doubt getting whatever she wanted—and the menacing twinkle so reminiscent of Jane's seemed to wink back.

The soft, fine baby hairs were as yet undetermined. It was at a crossroads—a bit of her dark raven and his gold. She would be heartbreaker.

Great.

At least she was a cop.

Another hour ticked by. But a light tap came at her door; she knew it wasn't her husband, nor her team, who had the misfortune of catching a case in Carmel. They would be skyping once they settled into the hotel, Grace quickly informed her. The redhead was beyond excited to the point of fits and dancing that she would assume both the role of substitute aunt and godmother.

"Come in," she allowed, carefully. She was tired but refused sleep, and figured it was the nurse. So tired, in fact, that she barely recognized a whisper of a feeling she remembered from long ago. It was not nearly as strong though, and in her exhaustion she let it fleetingly pass.

"Oh my," the woman whispered, hand over her mouth. "I'm sorry, I must have the wrong room!" she said, waving off her own error.

"It's alright, you're not bothering us. I'm just…waiting. My husband needed some air."

The woman laughed a lovely, tinkling sound like bells at Christmas, a laugh Lisbon had never heard before. "Don't mind me then, I'll be on my way," she replied. Her eyes were kind, Lisbon noted. The trusting sort strangers found comforting; the kind you could tell your life to.

Lisbon shook her head. "No, no, it's alright. I'm kind of bored, hate hospitals, who doesn't right? But I guess, I mean, I've been trying to figure out a name for her and it's like, nothing is right. Maybe you could help me. If you're not in a hurry."

"Oh no, I'm not exactly in a rush. Please, what is it that you have so far?" The woman asked, interested, as Teresa waved her into the chair by the bed.

"Well, I thought about Catherine, but every time I say it she scrunches her nose. Emma and Sophie were possible until I realized there would be twelve Sophie's in her class by the time she's in school. And ugh, I can't stand the _names that are nouns_ trend; seriously, who names their kid Banjo and Apple anyway?"

She was clearly flustered, and Jane's masterful disappearing act was only serving to fuel her frustration.

The woman's pretty laugh caught her up again; she was what most would consider a model "ten," the kind of woman that graced billboards and seemed so awkwardly out of place in a hospital chair. Lisbon wanted to feel…unpretty around her, but found that the complex wasn't there.

"Well, is there any special significance you can think of in a name?" she queried, as if staring into Lisbon's soul and not so much her eyes.

"I loved my mother, greatly, but she never wanted a name dedication. And Patrick doesn't know his, so it would be difficult. We were married in April, last year, after a kind of tragedy, but god knows he's had his share of those. And I don't think…no he would never let me name her after them, even in short." Lisbon sniffed. "He can barely handle the fact he has a daughter again."

"Hey, now, just breathe, you've just brought this life into the world—is it possible that he isn't frightened by having a daughter, but by having another life to look after, to keep safe, in general? I know my husband was quite the same. So afraid he'd break our little girl," the woman said wistfully. Teresa smiled.

"I didn't really think of that, but yeah," Teresa agreed. "It took a long time, to get him to agree to have a child, and then in the end it was kind of an accident anyways."

"The best ones usually are."

Teresa laughed a bit. "I still remember his face. He was so surprised—being a mentalist and all, I thought he'd seen that coming. But I was wrong. Or at least, he was very good at pretending to be surprised."

The woman sighed, heavy with an emotion Lisbon could not place. She pushed a strand of her dark blonde hair behind her ear. "You know, here," she said, pulling a bright red rose from a bouquet Teresa had not noticed before. She handed the stunning rose, in it's blooming form, to Lisbon. "For you, for her. And if I do say, it certainly brings out her color quite well."

"It's beautiful, but you don't have too," Lisbon began. But the woman was shaking her head.

"No worries. Where I'm going I won't need them," she replied with her bell like voice. Lisbon's brow furrowed at the odd statement, but did not think much on the subject as the woman slipped out of the room.

"Well, how about that, it certainly does make your cheeks look rosie, little girl."

Her baby gurgled, a little laugh of her own, as Lisbon slanted the rose toward her wandering hands.

"Rose," Teresa whispered in a sort of coo. "It's perfect."

"It is."

Her head shot up, relief in her face as she saw her husband looming regretfully in the door.

"Teresa, I'm sorry I shouldn't have left. Not like that," Jane said, moving towards his wife.

She shook her head. "Patrick, stop. I understand. I've always understood and you know that. You needed a minute. Or an hour and a half. But you're back," she finished in a whisper.

He sat delicately on the bed, running his index finger down his daughter's chubby arm. "It all came back so fast Teresa. Like whiplash. But it wasn't bad memories. Just…stunned and scared again."

"Did you want to hold her?" Teresa asked, hoping he would.

"Yes, I'd love too."

He carefully enfolded the pink bundle into the safety of his arms. It had been so long since that feeling had encompassed his being. He loved her already.

Rose Jane.

He was certain they'd come up with a middle name eventually.

"So, the rose, where did it come from? Don't tell me you've been serenaded by a gentleman doctor while I was out, my dear?"

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, Patrick, that's exactly what happened. I mean, I must be a catch, holding a baby I had three hours ago without a stitch of make up and hair that makes me look like I stuck my finger in a socket."

"Well if you're going to be sarcastic," he began with his trademark grin, before magicking a box of chocolate colored strawberries from his pocket. She gasped, excited about the treat.

She took it eagerly.

"So really, the team is in Carmel, don't keep me in suspense here," he cajoled.

She bit into one of the juicy dark chocolate delights. "It really is nothing that drastic, my _dear_. Just a woman with the wrong room number. And before you start, I'm a cop and I know. But she was nice, and not exactly an axe murderess so keep your thoughts to yourself Jane."

Still with the "Jane" when she was irked.

"You know, when Angela handed me Charlotte, I thought I would break her," he grinned widely. "She made fun of me for days after."

Lisbon's smile faltered, but she shook her head. All parents were like that. She wanted to scream coincidence.

But as if her tired brain demanded her recall at that moment, Teresa Jane could not stop herself.

Maybe because she felt that feeling before. With Charlotte. Maybe because she recalled the smell of strawberries when the woman whisked into the room. The words the woman had spoken in their strange context—the rose she '_would not need where she was going_.'

So this time it was Angela who'd made her presence known.

She felt…relieved. And looked after. As if Angela wanted to cast her own approval. She smiled to herself.

"What's funny?" Patrick asked, rocking Rose from the window.

"Nothing," she shrugged. "I love you, you know."

"I love you too. Both of you," he whispered.

She gazed at the sight before her for a long while, until sleep pulled at her wrecked body. He did not leave, holding her hand and rocking their baby girl. The team was ecstatic, and Grace was already planning birthdays and ball gowns for Rose.

It was a long while later, long after Patrick's head had dropped to her bed in need of his own rest, and Rose was placed in the bedside bassinet stand-in, feeling the weight of the day and years before finally settling.

Maybe she was dreaming those waking dreams. Because she felt loopy and odd and not in her own body or mind as she looked on.

Charlotte smiled down prettily at the sister she would never know, but would always watch over, beaming so brightly as if a halo surrounded both her and Rose.

And then she faded like the sun.

Teresa would keep what she'd seen that day to herself, for a little while. But she had a feeling he knew.

He always knew…

She heard the last echoing dulcet sounds of a _thank you_ surround her as she drifted back to sleep.


End file.
